


The Reality Where Everything Works Out Fine

by Crollalanza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Injury Recovery, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Lance presses his face against the castle wall and wonders.Why did Sven take a bullet for him?





	The Reality Where Everything Works Out Fine

It had been the certainty that had thrown Lance. That and the immediacy. The instinct. Lance prided himself on the speed of his reactions, but he thought even he would have hesitated, would have deliberated – even for a millisecond – the choice before him. And unarmed, Lance didn’t know what he’d have done.

Especially for a quasi-stranger.

However familiar.

He pressed his nose against the castle wall, feeling the coldness smudge across his cheek as he surveyed the worlds outside and wondered.

_Why?_

***

It was the looks on their faces that Sven couldn’t forget. Not that he wanted to forget. He wanted to remember every last drop and beyond. But he’d expected anger. He’d expected rage and shouted words. He’d expected yelps of pain and furled fists aimed his way. And he’d have taken it. He’d have stood there and accepted the bruises, the hurt, the hate and vilification.

Because it was preferable to this.

Slav had warned him. ‘Yes, you want to do this. That I understand. But should you? The outcome might not sit well. Are you prepared? This reality could fracture if you put so much as a toe wrong. The consequences for us all are too wide to contemplate. What if your mind unbalances because –’

But Sven had cut him off. ‘It’s my duty.’

He’d not expected kindness.

He’d not realised how much pain a soft handshake could cause. How a pat on the back and a gentle thank-you muffled by a sob could rip at his heart with more precision than a knife.

The kitchen he’d been ushered into, accepting strong coffee and sipping politely as they’d all sat in silence, had provided no comfort. For the opposite had happened. Eight chairs around a table. One empty. Conspicuously so. Perhaps it would never be filled again. And despite the gratitude in their eyes. (Eyes that were so like Charlie’s, Sven’s breath had sucker-punched out of his lungs.) The tears spilling down cheeks and the pressing hugs when he finally took his leave, nothing could alter the stark truth.

 _Nothing_ could alter the fact that Sven had brought the McLains back the body of a much-loved son and brother. The equivalent exchange, the life for a life - his own existence was a poor excuse for a bullet taken to the gut.

Leaving the warmth of their home, he understood the warnings Slav had been insistent about. _Nothing_ in this reality would ever be the same. The guilt he bore hadn’t lessened by performing his ‘duty’. It dragged him down like an anvil tied to his feet, like a bag of rocks slung on his back and his arms tightly bound at the wrists.

'Bye Charlie,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

 

He could smell fresh sheets and antiseptic. And the bustle of the day, sharp footsteps and quiet but authoritative orders reached his ears before he fully woke. Opening his eyes, Sven squinted at the light, then adjusted as something loomed towards him.

‘You’re awake! Good, good, I was starting to wonder if this reality wasn’t as fortunate as I’d predicted.’

Sven tried to turn towards Slav, but it was a slow process, a clumsy thing as he shifted up the bed and onto his side, hampered by drips and a multitude of dressings.

‘Char... uh ...that fighter,’ he rasped.  ‘He got away, right?’

‘In our reality, he survived. In his own ...” He clicked his tongue. ‘Who knows?’ Slav scowled. ‘You risked your life for him.’

And then the rope around his ankles, the bag of rocks on his back and the bonds of self-loathing began to lessen. ‘It was you who said this was the reality where everything works out, Slav.’

‘Ja, but I didn’t expect this to be the _one_ time you listened.’

***

 

He felt rather than heard them come in. Lance didn’t turn his head, or murmur anything by way of a greeting, but the pair of them stood either side, and soon he felt one heavy hand on his shoulder and a smaller one tucked through his arm.

‘I don’t understand,’ Lance said at last. ‘That guy – Sven - took a bullet for a stranger.’

Hunk let out a huff of a breath, and Pidge a sigh.

‘Must know our sharp-shooter’s important,’ Pidge replied.

“He didn’t know me,” Lance repeated, stubbornness gnawing at his brain.

‘Maybe you’re _not_ such a stranger,” Hunk proposed. ‘Like, we all thought he was Shiro when he first appeared.’

_Oh._

Lance tilted his head to the side. ‘So there’s another Lance out there, you mean. Tearing through the skies, shooting down the bad guys, and –’ he waggled his eyebrows ‘- chatting up the _ladies._ ’

‘And he’s back!’ Pidge grumbled, giving him a soft punch. ‘Lance Charles McClain, you sure know how to ruin a bonding moment.’

He grinned and slung his arm across her shoulders, hefting his other over Hunk. ‘Don’t think us guys need bonding moments. Bet we’re together in every reality.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> In other Voltron incarnations, Lance's full name is Lance Charles McClain, so I went with that.


End file.
